In Sickness and in Health
by Mirach
Summary: Aziraphale is now free from Heaven's restrictions and has no limit on the miracles he can do other than his own power. With Christmas approaching, he gets a bit carried away with those and has to bear the consequences. Luckily Crowley is there to share the load.
1. Chapter 1

A gift for the Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019 for aknightofthe7kingdoms. I have to thank the mods because the match was absolutely perfect, I love writing about the same things as her and it was a great joy to write for her prompts. We have even been both sick while I was plotting and writing this story, although I only had a cough while she had pnemonia. So here is a story with a sick angel and later also a sick demon.  
Thanks to squiddz for betaing!

* * *

**In Sickness and in Health**

**I.**

There was something strange about the "Father Christmas in Hospitals" project this year. For once, without any change to their rather poor advertising strategy, the donations doubled compared to the last few years. That meant that they could get better costumes for their volunteers and more toys for the children. Secondly, none of their volunteers got stuck on the M25 despite the light snow that had been falling and melting into a sludge on the streets since early morning. And lastly, there was a real angel among them, although nobody was aware of that.

Aziraphale and Crowley enjoyed the Christmas season, each for their own reasons. Both knew that Jesus wasn't actually born a few days after the winter solstice and Aziraphale rather liked to follow the traditions of Hanukkah for sentimental reasons: he actually started it. During the Maccabean revolt he made that menorah of the rededicated temple burn for eight days straight even if there was only enough oil for one. (He enjoyed the Christmas food and certain decorations, though.) Crowley didn't really celebrate anything, but both of the ethereal and occult beings could appreciate the increase in human suggestibility towards good or evil, respectively.

This was the first Christmas after the world didn't end and Aziraphale felt like a child in a candy shop who has been told to pick whatever he likes. That was another reason he liked the season - people subconsciously expected miracles, and so it was much easier to do them without anyone asking uncomfortable questions. Upstairs had limited his miracle quota for every year and overstepping it led to a sharp reprimand and a great deal of paperwork. But this year, he didn't answer to anyone and he planned to do all the Christmas miracles he wanted.

He didn't say anything to Crowley, though, because that costume looked ridiculous. That was the reason he told himself, at least. And it did look rather cliché, despite his little alterations to it. There were little silver wings embroidered on the back now, and a tartan lining inside that couldn't really be seen but made him feel much better. Wearing the costume was a sure way to get where miracles were most needed without spending a few needlessly, and he quite enjoyed the act that came with it and the children's reactions.

"Ho ho ho! Oh dear, isn't that little Emily? I brought you a bicycle last year, didn't I?"

A smile full of the joy of seeing him mixed with some lingering sadness. "I didn't get to ride it much this year. I still need training wheels."

"Don't worry, young lady. Plenty of time to learn next year." And he made sure it was so.

"Ho ho ho! How are you today, Timmy?"

"I know you're not Santa. You are some guy in costume."

"Of course I am. If I didn't wear a costume, everyone would know I'm Father… err... Santa, and I wouldn't be able to go anywhere incognito."

"So you're wearing a costume like Spiderman does?"

"Uh… I'm not sure I know that gentleman, but it may be possible. And what would you like for Christmas this year?"

"You brought me a Spiderman action figure last year. You would know if you were real."

"Oh, the red and blue one with big frowny white eyes? So that's this Spiderman in his costume, right? I will remember."

"If you were real, you would make it so that I'm home for Christmas, not here."

"I will."

"Hey, Lucy. You know who I am, don't you? Under the costume, yes. Don't worry, it will be alright…"

"She smiled! She didn't react to anything for days!"

Sometimes, no miracle would help. Sometimes the shadow of Azrael's wings was too strong, the fate already decided. Aziraphale knew deep inside why he really didn't ask Crowley to come with him.

After some time, he started doubting that decision, though. There were many hospitals in London. But it felt unfair, to limit himself to London. He could do as many miracles as he wanted now and it felt wrong not to do them. He could use another pair of hands right now. Crowley could not heal directly, being a demon, but he could curse and tempt. A curse to annoy doctors as their patients suddenly, inexplicably, found all their symptoms gone. A temptation into getting better so one could gluttonously indulge in their favourite foods again.

He was losing track of time and had only a vague idea where he was as he teleported in and out of various hospitals. Just one more and then he would go home and get some rest - he told himself in the last twenty of them. Just one more miracle. One more healing. One more blessing. One more…

Then the lights blurred.

Collapsing in the middle of a hospital hall is not the best idea if you want to get out of the hospital soon, he found out. The last bit of a miracle he had - not enough to help anyone sick - was spent on making the staff look the other way while he staggered out into the cold and grey day. He wasn't quite sure what day it was and in which city. This really got out of hand, he though with a faint pang of guilt as he imagined how worried Crowley would be.

December 20th, Nottingham, he found out by asking the passers-by with all the politeness he could muster despite their stares. He was still dressed as Father Christmas, after all. It must have seemed like some kind of joke for sure. Well, it could be worse, location-wise. He clearly remembered being somewhere in Italy earlier. He must have subconsciously started drifting towards home when he felt he was running out of miracles. But time-wise, it had been five days since he told Crowley that he would be late for their dinner the next day. Oops.

And not just any dinner, but a date. All dinners were dates now. And all lunches and breakfasts and brunches, walks and concerts and theatre plays... They had been dating officially since September, all with bouquets coded in flower language and chocolates from those little manufactures in Swiss and Belgium. Basically, it was the same as before, but now they could call it courtship without having to play the old hiding and pretending game. And it was all marvellous, but now he really messed up. He needed to apologize to Crowley.

But first he had to get to London without any money. That had never been a problem before. Drained as he was though, it was quite a problem, since he couldn't teleport home.

He was also starting to see the appeal of this "smart phone-thing" that Crowley tried to convince him to obtain. He wouldn't have to ask about the time and how to get to the bus station, if you would be so kind as to tell me, and where the next bus to London is leaving from, thank you very much.

He was so very tired. The cold seeped into his bones as he waited for the bus, and then for the next one, because the driver was not charitable enough to take him to London for a promise of later repayment with a blessing on the top. The exhaustion was making him all shivery inside while the cold did the job from outside. He was glad that angels couldn't get sick. Or could they?

The next bus arrived, a promise of warmth and getting home behind its doors.

And the driver, like Charon demanding payment for the fare.

"Excuse me sir, I'm really sorry but I am volunteering for the Father Christmas for Hospitals program and I seem to have misplaced my wallet and I really need to get home to London and it would be so kind of you if you could take me on the bus please, I would repay you tomorrow if you could just tell me which bus you will be driving, I really apologize for the inconvenience, thank you and bless you, although not now I'm afraid but tomorrow for sure, but thank you really..."

At the end, it was a young lady that stood in the line behind him who bought him a ticket. He promised to repay her, but she refused, claiming to be too busy to meet again. He gave her a "Father Christmas in Hospitals" leaflet that he got with the costume. Through his aura on it, he would be able to trace her and give her a proper blessing later.

He sank into an empty seat, sniffling a little. The warmth of the bus helped with the outwards cold, but did nothing for the one deep inside. An occasional shiver still ran through him as the bus left Nottingham and passed Clifton. He leaned his head on the cold window, using the wig from his costume to wipe away the dampness that condensed on it. It took him a while to identify the feeling he had as a headache. He associated that with hangovers and hadn't had one for over 200 years. But now, the pressure in his temples was rising with every jolt of the bus and headache seemed like the only correct word to name that.

It must come from exhaustion, he thought. There was probably a good reason why Heaven used to limit his miracles. He had a tendency of getting carried away. A kid in a candy shop, indeed. And now he had a stomach ache from all that candy, apparently. Thinking about that made him realize he indeed had one. Just great. He took deep breaths to suppress the nausea as the bus slowed down or accelerated. Could one have a hangover from too many miracles? It surely felt like one.

The sun set quickly and the view from the window became just lights passing in the darkness: the street lights hurrying backwards, the cars blinking red and white, the lights reflected in the drops that ran across the glass. The three hours of the ride became four because freezing rain made the road slippery just as they were approaching London. Aziraphale wished they would just get there already. And then, as the bus stopped at Marble Arch, he wished the ride would take longer. He wished he could stay in his warm, slightly uncomfortable seat. But the door opened with a little hiss and people started heading out, already dressed in their coats and jackets.

He had nothing more to put on than what he was already wearing. And even in the warmth inside, he still felt those little shivers that started somewhere near the middle of his spine and ran along it in both directions. Getting up and walking towards the exit was an exercise in self-renunciation, made even worse by the stiffness in his legs after hours of sitting. And a little wobbliness as well, supporting the hangover theory. And-

"Bugger!"

The wet cold outside was like a punch in the gut. It reminded him of Sandalphon as he felt the sharpness of the air filling his lungs. He coughed with it. A shiver ran through him. He coughed again. He shivered again. The shivering became constant.

He really wished for a way to call Crowley. He wished for the warmth and comfort of the Bentley coming for him. He wished Crowley would come like he used to, always the one to save the day and pull him out of trouble when least (or sometimes entirely) expected. Not this time, though. This time he really messed up. No Bentley in sight. Aziraphale sighed and started walking towards Soho.

It's not that far, he told himself. No further than from St. James's Park - a pleasant little walk to his bookshop. There was nothing pleasant about this walk, though.

The hangover was getting worse. How could it be getting worse when he hadn't been doing anymore miracles? It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense how his body reacted to a little bit of rain and wind.

His legs hurt. He just wanted to lie down. Not outside, of course. He wanted to lie down somewhere nice and comfortable. It seemed strange to want such a banal thing so strongly. The more he walked, the more he felt his growing distaste for the upright position.

Passing the entrance to the Oxford Circle underground station told him he was about half-way there. It also made him realize that he could have taken the tube here. Well, too late now. He had no money anyway and the thought of either being a stowaway or begging again was enough to disregard the idea even if it had come to him sooner.

He walked on. The sidewalk was a patchwork of black and gold as the street lamps reflected in rain puddles. It reminded him of Crowley's eyes.

He wanted to lie down so badly he felt like weeping. Quite unbecoming of an angel, he thought and forced himself to straighten his back.

It lasted him for about two minutes. Then he realized he was walking slouched again, pitifully trying to offer as little target to the wind as possible, his hands tucked in his armpits for warmth. He did not exert any effort to make himself look more presentable. To be honest, he didn't give a damn. He was cold and wet, he was bloody tired, his head hurt, his legs were wobbly and his throat felt like he has swallowed a pincushion. All he wanted was to get home and lie down. And some hot tea. But making tea and lying down were mutually exclusive, so he wasn't completely decided about that yet.

He almost passed his bookshop. He was so focused on the idea of getting there and putting one foot in front of the other that he walked past the door and automatically turned to St. James's Park. Luckily he realized it after a few steps and turned back. Nobody saw him, at least.

The shop was dark. With relief he stopped in front of the familiar door, announcing "closed" to all potential customers. Not to him, though. Soon, he would be inside, in his own oasis of warmth and comfort. He reached for the door handle.

"Fuck!"

Swearing came somehow easier once you already started. And it came exceptionally easy at the moment you realized you don't have your keys because you are used to unlocking the door by a miracle and you are cold, wet and tired and completely drained of miracles.

He pushed the handle harder, then gave it a sharp pull - as if that could help. Of course it didn't. He almost kicked the door as well, but stopped himself at the last moment. He pressed himself into the doorframe to get a meagre protection from the wind and considered his options. He didn't want to walk to Mayfair and knock on Crowley's door. He really didn't want to do that. There were so many points against that. He was still wearing the stupid red and white costume. He was four days late for their dinner. He has not even told Crowley where he was going. He was exhausted and did not feel like explaining anything.

He could not think of any other option than walking to Mayfair and knocking on Crowley's door.

He moaned and forced himself to step away from the door. Mayfair, it is. Once more into the cold wind and freezing rain. He started walking.

"Hey."

It took a moment to register that voice. In disbelief, he turned around.

The shop windows were lit. The door was open and in it stood Crowley, eyebrows raised with teasing amusement.

Aziraphale wished he could burrow straight into Hell like a demon. At least it was warmer there. All the points against going to Mayfair just materialized in front of him in the door of his own bookshop. One plus point was that he didn't need to go all the way there. Minus was that Crowley had probably been watching and listening the whole time. He even heard him say "fuck". Fuck.

He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. He felt silly for waiting there as if he would need an invitation to come inside his own shop. But he did wait, pointedly avoiding Crowley's gaze.

"Ho ho ho," Crowley grinned. "Aren't you supposed to get in through the chimney?"

"Crowley, _please_."

"Please what, angel? Please forgive me for not letting you know where I'm going and leaving you bloody worried? That's what you wanted to say? Or please forgive me that I didn't tell you that I'm going to do so many damn Christmas miracles that Downstairs would be alerted if you didn't run around and balance it with spreading evil and doing so many temptations you wouldn't even have time to look for me?"

Aziraphale's shoulders sagged. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry. I didn't think…"

"Yeah, you didn't," Crowley muttered, but his expression softened at Aziraphale's misery. He moved away from the doorframe. "Don't just stand there. Come in and get something dry to wear, you Ghost of Christmas Wet."

Aziraphale did, walking inside with as much enthusiasm as a customer service employee after a long shift. It seemed that lying down wasn't on option in the near future. He wished for a long hot bath like those he used to luxuriate in back in Rome. But that would require his shop to actually have whatever humans used to produce hot water nowadays. He'd never been bothered by that before, when a steaming bath was just a snap of fingers away. And Crowley didn't seem like he was going to leave anytime soon, either, so a change of clothes would have to do.

He headed straight to his closet in the little bedroom upstairs, purposefully avoiding Crowley's eyes and acting like everything was absolutely tickety-boo.

After peeling off the wet red and white layers and dressing in his usual clothes, he felt a bit better about his outward appearance. But on the inside, he only felt marginally better. The bed covered with stashes of books has never been so tempting before. He sighed inwardly and steeled himself for a miserable evening. He deserved it, after all. Crowley had every right to scold him. He'd never thought of the consequences of his miracle spree. He deserved to feel miserable now.

He sighed and turned to go downstairs, thinking hard about an apology.


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

"I'm sorry it took me a tad longer," Aziraphale apologized as he walked down the stairs, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the stab of pain in his throat with every word. "Can I offer you something? Wine? Whiskey? Tea?"

"Don't bother, I've already served myself while waiting," Crowley said, pointing at a half-finished glass of amber liquid. It would have sounded rather cold, had he not pressed a steaming cup of tea into Aziraphale's hands.

The angel's stiff fingers curled around it gratefully. "Oh. Thank you." He stood there, looking down into the cup of Earl Grey, made just the way he liked it, suppressing shivers and ignoring a pounding headache, feeling guilty and undeserving of such a gesture.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley," he said miserably. "I never wanted to make it this difficult for you. I got carried away. I just wanted to do a few miracles, now that nobody is keeping track, but once I started, it was so hard to stop. There was always someone who needed one more, and then someone else who needed it even more. I couldn't just leave them when I could help. I… I lost track of time. I'm really sorry."

Crowley was quiet for a moment, watching him from beneath the sunglasses. Aziraphale was clutching the cup in front of him nervously.

"Oh, blast it," Crowley muttered, now clearly uncomfortable as well. "Don't do that. Not to me."

"I will try to do better, I promise."

"No! No no no, I don't mean that! Ugh, sit down, angel! You look like you are talking to Gabriel."

Unsure, Aziraphale sat down on the sofa, his back straight and hands clutching the cup in his lap. He hadn't drunk from it yet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Stop. Just stop, please." Crowley ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then removed his glasses with a sharp tug. "Do not apologize to me for doing a good thing. That's what you needed to do with Gabriel, and he can go fuck himself. I don't mind fomenting some evil so you can get to help someone, really. I was just worried, that's all. Sorry I acted a bit harsh with you."

He slowly approached the sofa and slouched down on the other side, his whole body turned towards Aziraphale. He sighed. "I see why you got carried away, really. If that's how you had to explain every miracle… I'm not angry with you anymore, okay? Look at you, I don't get how anyone could be angry with you, honestly."

That brought a faint smiled to Aziraphale's lips. He still wished Crowley would go away already so he could lie down, but at the same time he wished he would stay. It was worth the prolonged discomfort. Finally, he sipped the tea. The heat spreading from his stomach gave him some relief from the cold that was deeply seated in his corporation now. His throat still hurt when he spoke, though. "Thank you, dear. I really messed up, didn't I? But you are right, I'm not sorry for what I did. Just for the poor logistics. I got carried away. It's still too new to me, this freedom to do what I want. I make mistakes. But next time I will coordinate with you, I promise."

"You are free to make mistakes. That's what freedom is about, I always say."

"When you tempt someone," Aziraphale smirked into the cup.

Crowley shrugged. "Doesn't make it less true."

He watched the angel for a while. When the cup was empty, he miracled more tea into it. "I am sorry too," he said. "I let you walk here in the awful weather. I was still angry. You know, demon. Wanted to give you a lesson."

"I deserved it."

"No, not really. Maybe a little. My mistake, still. Although I must say that hearing you say "fuck" in a Santa Claus costume was worth it."

Aziraphale looked like he wanted to dig a hole in the sofa with his bottom so he could hide himself in it.

"No, really," Crowley grinned. "It was awesome. You should swear more often."

Aziraphale pouted. But his sight went sideways, to the empty space on the sofa between them. His head was hurting so much he wasn't sure how long he would be able to stay upright yet. It was getting really hard to concentrate on the talk.

Crowley gave him a questioning look, as if recognizing instantly that the angel wanted something.

Aziraphale finished the tea and put the cup aside. It helped against some of the chill, but not all of it. "Uh… would you mind terribly if I lay down for a moment?" he asked, overcoming his restraint when it became clear to him that the other option might involve fainting on the couch. He felt terribly weak.

Crowley looked at him in alarm. "Are you alright?"

"I just exhausted myself with the miracles," Aziraphale managed to say without wincing at the pain in his throat. It was getting worse. "Feels a bit like hangover."

Crowley shifted immediately to make place for Azirphale to lie down. As an afterthought, he even positioned a pillow for him.

Aziraphale sank on it with a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes.

Crowley watched him with concern now. "It's been hours since you did the last miracle. Surely your strength should be coming back by now?"

Aziraphale just wished the demon would stay quiet now. "Must have overstepped my limits a bit…" he murmured. "I just need some rest, 'tis all."

"Yes, okay. Are you sure?"

"Of course, dear. I'll be fine in the morning."

Crowley watched as he fell asleep and then miracled a blanket to cover him, compromising on the tartan with black and red pattern.

* * *

But the angel wasn't fine in the morning. Ten hours later, he still slept and Crowley was getting worried. He hated to interrupt the rest that Aziraphale clearly needed, but he had to know what was wrong. He needed to do something.

He knelt at Aziraphale's side. "Angel? Hey, it's morning already. Time to wake up."

Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows but did not wake

"Breakfast is ready!" Crowley tried.

No response.

That really made Crowley worried. He hesitated with his hand over the angel's shoulder. Casual touch was no longer taboo between them. They'd already held hands, after all. Actually, they had been holding hands quite often lately and it felt like holding pure starlight and happiness every time. There had even been some chaste goodbye kisses at the bookshop door. But touching the angel without him being aware of it felt almost like sacrilege.

Crowley sighed. "If you don't wake right now, I'm going to shake you awake, understood?" he proclaimed for good measure before he gently lowered his hand to do so. He only touched the angel, though. Then he put his hand to Aziraphale's forehead.

"Oh, shit."

"Language, dear…" Aziraphale murmured with his eyes still closed, not looking much aware.

"Aziraphale! Open your eyes right now, I need to ask you something!"

Aziraphale groaned and winced with pain. "Can't it wait till morning?" he asked rather hoarsely.

"It can't wait and it is already morning! Aziraphale, what temperature does your corporation usually have?" Crowley asked insistently. He was quite sure he remembered it being lower than this.

Aziraphale finally opened his eyes. "It's standard issue, why?" he murmured and started coughing.

"Because you seem to be running a fever," Crowley said when the coughs subsided, panic creeping into his voice. "A rather high one."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale rasped. "Angels don't get a fever. I just…" Cough. "...I just overexerted myself."

"And caught some sickness while being weakened like that."

"Angels don't get sick."

"No, because if they do they just automatically heal themselves without even noticing, I would guess. But you were out of miracles."

"That's… nonsense."

"They why are you speaking like your throat hurts?"

"Am not… uh…" Aziraphale winced. "It rather does. That's… strange." He closed his eyes and appeared to sink into the pillow. "Am I really sick?" he asked, sounding a little embarrassed.

Crowley wanted to kick himself. "It very much seems so," he said. "You got sick because you spent all your miracles and it's damn easy to catch something going through so many hospitals and you had to go by bus and then walk across all of Soho because nobody was there to give you a lift home when you needed it. Ugh! Bless that bloody idiot who thought it would be funny to let you get home all alone in the cold!"

Aziraphale opened his eyes. "Crowley, dear," he whispered, finding that a bit less straining for his throat now that admitted to himself that it indeed hurts. "It would be quite justified in any other circumstances. You couldn't know…"

"No, it would be equally awful in any circumstances," Crowley said bitterly. "You don't deserve that."

"I very much do," Aziraphale argued, raising his voice again. It led to another coughing fit.

Crowley miracled a handkerchief that the angel thankfully pressed to his mouth for the sense of propriety.

"Better not speak anymore. I'll make tea, okay? Tea is supposed to help, I think?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you," Aziraphale rasped and closed his eyes. He was pale and beads of sweat ran down his forehead.

Crowey bit his lip. He adjusted the blanket and left. In just a minute, he returned with a steaming cup of tea with honey and lemon.

"I brought the tea. Aziraphale?"

The angel opened his eyes again, glossy with fever.

Crowley lifted him into a half sitting position and adjusted the pillow to support him so that he could drink. Aziraphale did so with effort.

"I know I told you not to speak, but I need you to tell me exactly how you feel. I can't really heal but humans have invented all sorts of medicines and I've heard they even started to get it right in the last century or so. You just need to know what exactly ails you. It might be worth a try."

Aziraphale took a sip of the tea, grimacing as it passed through his throat.

"Sore throat, I got that," Crowley said helpfully. "And fever. Does anything else hurt?"

"My head," Aziraphale sighed. "And arms and legs. I feel… kind of weak and shivery."

"Got it," Crowley nodded. "Let me just google it, there might be something helpful."

Aziraphale just nodded as if he knew what Crowley was talking about. He continued sipping the tea.

"So, according to this," Crowley said after a moment of tapping on the screen of his phone, "you've got lung cancer. Or are pregnant."

"Uh, dear? I don't think that's very correct. From what I've seen in humans, my bet would be on a common flu. No big deal, really. Warlock had it once too, remember?"

"Oh. Right. A flu. Makes sense. Much more sense than pregnancy, I must say."

Aziraphale smiled at him rather weakly. "Nothing to worry about. A week and I'll be fine."

"A week? But it's almost Christmas!"

"I thought you didn't celebrate it?"

"Not until now. It's silly, I know. Just a made up human holiday. But I wanted to… it's our first Christmas together. I wanted it to be special."

"Really sorry for ruining it, dear."

"Oh no. Don't you apologize. It's my fault. I ruined it myself. Like I always do. You don't get to feel bad about it. You just get better, and then we can celebrate New Year or something. Besides, you're not ruining it. You just rest and I'll take care of everything. Who said you can't celebrate in bed, right? Actually, staying in bed is very festive. Very indulgent."

Aziraphale smiled a bit and put the empty cup on the little table next to the sofa.

Crowley took the clue and lowered the pillow again so he could lie down more comfortably. "Want something to eat?" he asked.

"No, I think I'd better not."

"Okay. Then I will get some medicine. Is it okay if I leave for a while?"

"Of course, dear…" Aziraphale murmured and closed his eyes again

"Okay. Okay. I'll be right back. Just a little moment. Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," Aziraphale assured him. He seemed almost relieved when the tense demon left, enjoying some quiet that soothed his headache.

But Crowley was indeed away for just a little moment. He must have teleported right into the nearest pharmacy and back. He started putting various colorful packages on the table. "This is supposed to help with the fever. This is for cough, this one sore throat… and these all claim they are best for relieving flu symptoms. I'm not sure which one is right though, so maybe it would be best to take them all."

"Better not," said Aziraphale, who has spent the last few days in different hospitals and so had a vague idea how these things worked.

"If you think so," Crowley said, a bit doubtful, and spent a few minutes reading the little text on the packages. At the end he settled on one white pill, a spoonful of syrup, a sucking pastille and some powder that made a fizzy drink with hot water.

Aziraphale took it without protest.

"Do you need anything else?" Crowley asked then. "Can I get you something? Anything at all, angel?"

"Just… be quiet, please?" Aziraphale asked a bit guiltily, as if hoping it won't be taken in a wrong way. He just wanted to hide under the blanket and rest. That seemed to help with the headache better than some pills.

"Oh. Of course," Crowley said. "I will be right here if you need something. Sitting quietly. I'll read or something… whatever you want."

"Do what you want, just quietly," Aziraphale smiled at him weakly.

Crowley nodded, but looked quite unsure about what to do. In the end he just sat down on a chair and watched the angel, trying to be as unobtrusive about it as possible. It seemed that Aziraphale fell asleep again. Crowley hoped that enough rest could recover his miracle capacity so that he might be able to heal himself. Aziraphale really didn't deserve to be this miserable for a week.

Three hours later, Crowley was crawling up the walls with impatience. Literally. He was currently sitting right above Aziraphale's writing table, watching the angel. Occasionally, he would climb down and check his fever. It had lowered a little after the medicine, but was now rising again. He also made the mistake of googling again, and was now worried that Aziraphale had contracted avian flu. It would make sense, with certain features of angel anatomy.

Aziraphale certainly tried to make him feel less guilty about this, but he didn't really succeed. Crowley felt like he'd thwarted himself once again - only it was Aziraphale who was suffering for it, and that was so much worse. He wished he could go back to the good old habit of only hurting himself.

And then he got an idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale!"

The angel whimpered. "'m sleeping…"

"So wake up," Crowley demanded. "It's worth it, I promise. You will be feeling fine in no time."

Aziraphale opened one eye, frowning at the stabbing pain behind his temples. "Please, just let me rest."

"Soon. Just one thing." He extended his hand towards the angel.

Aziraphale stared at it without comprehension.

"Swap," Crowley said firmly.

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "No way."

"Why?"

"Can't make you feel this miserable. Just let me sleep, please."

"I want to feel miserable, Aziraphale. This is my fault. If you don't let me swap with you, I'll feel even more miserable. The guilt would eat me up. I'm not made for sitting quietly and waiting."

Aziraphale groaned. "Don't tempt me."

"I'm not. I really want this. I want us to have a nice first Christmas together and it's not really what I imagined, you being sick."

"And you being sick is better?" Aziraphale asked and started coughing.

"No, no," Crowley said, wincing at the painful sounding coughs. "I can't heal you, but you can heal me. As soon as you recover your miracles. You can't get them back while fighting this sickness, but if we swap, it should be a matter of a day or two. See? Instead of you being miserable for a week, I would just be miserable for a day. And we can celebrate Christmas together. The decorations, the food, the mistletoe…"

"You tempter…" Aziraphale sighed and cringed as another stab of pain split his head. "Alright, I accept. But first dress me in something that you would find comfortable to sleep in."

"You sure?"

Aziraphale nodded.

Now it was Crowley's turn to be tempted. He considered dressing Aziraphale in something modern and stylish, like he'd always wanted to see him (just for a bit, then he could change into whatever he felt good in, because the angel was prettiest when he felt good, of course). But in the end, he settled for an oversized cotton Star Wars t-shirt and loose black pajama trousers. As an afterthought, he also changed into looser grey trousers and beige sweater in order to make Aziraphale feel more welcome in his corporation. Then he extended his hand again.

Aziraphale took it.

The angel's hand was too warm and clammy. Crowley felt the fever and sickness in his touch and then he felt it in his own hand, in his own body - Aziraphale's body. All the misery that the angel felt hit him at once like a post carriage (he would say train, but only had first-hand experience with a carriage so far, with no intention to change it). It made his legs feel like jelly and his head like a bomb about to explode at any moment.

"Hey angel…" he rasped and bent over in a coughing fit. "Uh… angel… that's some good stuff you've got there…" Then he proceeded to topple to the ground in Aziraphale's body.

But Aziraphale never let go of his hand. He quickly got up from the sofa, adjusting for the sudden change in his center of gravity, and caught his own corporation before it could fall.

He maneuvered it - with Crowley inside - onto the sofa, laying him down as comfortably as possible. Then he sat down on the edge, needing a moment to deal with the sudden lack of flu symptoms, a bit dizzy with how bad it _didn't _feel.

"Ugh. Blergh." Crowley expressed rather accurately how Aziraphale felt just a moment ago.

"Oh dear… I'm so sorry. Do you want to change back? I would quite understand if…"

"No way," Crowley somehow managed to hiss through Aziraphale's mouth. "This is how you've felt since yesterday? No way am I allowing you to feel like this a moment longer. Just…" Cough. "Just rest to recover your miracles, deal?"

Aziraphale was still holding Crowley's hand. He gave it a little squeeze." "I'll do my best," he said quietly and finally got up, not prompting Crowley to talk anymore. He knew very well how talking felt right now, how difficult those long conversations that needed focus were. He knew exactly what the pain in his head and in his throat and in his muscles felt like.

"I'll be right back with tea," he said. "Try to not fall asleep yet, okay?"

"Mhm."

It took Aziraphale much longer to make tea than it took to Crowley. He couldn't use any miracles and needed to wait for the water to boil and the tea to steep and cool to the right temperature. While he waited, he took a moment to marvel at the feeling of this wonderful, healthy, not-hurting body around his soul. The body that Crowley lent him so generously. He even dressed it in comfortable clothes for him. He did that after Aziraphale was four days late for their date and made him work overtime to balance the burst of goodness he caused.

He was so overcome by love that he needed to do something or he would burst. Luckily, Crowley's body was just here. Gently, he brought its hand to his lips and kissed it.

A moment later, he knelt at the sofa with tea and all of the medicine Crowley had fetched for him. It felt a bit strange, watching his own face making grimaces while swallowing the pills. "Drink it all, dear," he said gently when Crowley wanted to put the half-finished cup aside. "I can't keep it warm for you, I'm afraid."

Crowley obeyed and closed his eyes after Aziraphale took the cup.

Aziraphale knew very well how alluring the wish for rest was. It felt like the only escape from the terrible headache. He moved around the shop very quietly. He washed the cup and prepared one for himself, using the time while it was steeping to move his favourite chair next to the sofa. There he sat down with the tea and biscuits, since there was no other food to be found in the shop.

He was still feeling tired and knew he needed to rest as well to recover his miracles as fast as possible. This was a form of rest that felt best to him: watching Crowley in his own body and checking his fever, ready to fulfill any wish if he wakes or do anything it takes to make him better if he gets worse. A guardian, that was his role. Crowley was right, he was the one who was better equipped to do this between the two of them.

A while after sunset, Crowley awoke with a heartfelt groan. He looked like he didn't want to, but Aziraphale's body wasn't used to this much sleep and finally decided against it.

Aziraphale was right next to him. "How are you feeling, dear?"

Crowley passed his hand over his eyes. "Like shit," he muttered. "Why's it so dark?"

"Dark? Oh, right! That would be my eyes, I think. Standard human edition. Yours are much better. I didn't even realize it had gotten so dark. Should I turn on the lights?"

Crowley nodded, sparing his sore throat the answer.

Aziraphale did so. Luckily the shop's connection to the electric network was not miracle-based.

Crowley squinted a bit in the light before the standard human edition eyes adjusted to it. Aziraphale prepared another dose of all the medicine and went to make more tea.

"Have you been resting?" Crowley asked hoarsely after taking all the medication, which took a while.

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale furrowed his brow as he examined the state of his ethereal form. "Yes, I'm already recovering. You were right, I couldn't while fighting the illness, but now it's getting better. I think I might have the power for a minor miracle already. Not enough to heal you yet, though, and I don't want to waste it. I'm sorry for making you wait."

"'s'fine. Have you eaten?"

"Just a few biscuits. I don't really need…"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You dooo. You enjoy it."

"I didn't want to leave you."

"So why didn't you… ah, I see." Crowley smirked a little, looking at Aziraphale's ancient phone. Without a miracle, the angel had no way of knowing the number of their favourite sushi place or any other food delivery.

He took his smartphone from the table and dialled the number. "Here," he said with a slightly wicked expression, and gave the device to Aziraphale as it started ringing.

The expression of pure panic on his own face currently worn by Aziraphale was totally worth it.

The angel fumbled with the phone for a while, but when the waiter's voice sounded from the speaker, he already had the phone in a correct position. He has seen the humans (and Crowley) doing it often enough and learnt quickly when forced.

He made the order in the same composed voice that he used to speak over his rotary phone, but the glare he was giving Crowley spoke volumes. He returned the phone without ending the call (the other side did), clutching just a corner of it between his thumb and index finger like it was a dead mouse that a cat had left at the front door.

Crowley chuckled and started coughing. That led to a grimace as the coughs strained his throat. The grimace seemed to increase the headache. He pulled the blanket over his head, as if embarrassed by the aftermath of his devilish plan.

Aziraphale smiled fondly and patted his knee through the blanket. "There there, you vile serpent."

Crowley peeked out from under the blanket, still smirking a little at both Aziraphale's and his own expense.

"Very funny, dear," Aziraphale shook his head. "But now be a good demon and rest, alright?"

"'m not tired anymore," Crowley rasped. "Just bored. But not feeling like doing anything… Ugh."

"I see," Aziraphale said sympathetically. "My original plan was to sleep it off, but it seems that won't work. I'm afraid my body is not used to much sleeping at once, sorry."

"Sleeping problems off? Inspired by me?" Crowley smiled a little.

"Well, it did seem like the easiest solution."

"Inspired by me." Crowley just had to add despite gradually losing his voice.

"Possibly. So would you like me to read you something?"

Crowey nodded.

"Anything particular?"

Crowley shrugged.

"How about something thematic? Christmas Carol?"

Crowley shook his head vehemently.

"Um… okay." Aziraphale thought for a moment, wondering what story Crowley might like right now. It needed to be something simple, not requiring much focus, but still interesting. "Oh. How would you like the Little Prince?"

Crowley considered it momentarily. Then he nodded.

Aziraphale smiled and went to retrieve his first English edition, signed by both the author and the translator. He never bothered with learning French.

They got to the drunkard's planet when the food arrived.

As Aziraphale moved to take cash from the register and open the door, Crowley propped himself on one elbow, suddenly alert. "Sssunglassesss," he hissed.

"Oh! Right, of course," Aziraphale nodded and put on Crowley's glasses before getting the delivery.

"Thank you, dear," he said when he got back. "I had forgotten entirely. Although, people wear all kinds of contact lenses nowadays, did you know?"

Crowley shrugged and watched the angel as he put the box of food aside and reached for the book again. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I'll eat when you fall asleep. Unless you want to share?"

Crowley shook his head. "I like watching you eat," he rasped, surprisingly honest.

Aziraphale blushed a little. "Don't you want to finish the story?"

"After you've eaten."

Aziraphale frowned petulantly, which looked strangely adorable on Crowley's face. "After I make you tea."

Crowley gave him a long-suffering sigh.

The sounds of boiling water and clinking porcelain came from the kitchen, then a cup of tea was pressed into Crowley's hands - generously sweetened with honey, he found out when he took a sip.

Aziraphale sat down cross-legged on the ground, leaning on the sofa. He took out the sushi from the box and arranged it on a plate, just as neatly as they would get it in the restaurant. Then he turned to Crowley.

The demon in Aziraphale's body was lying on his side, resting his head on his elbow and watching him with an expression that Aziraphale was quite familiar with. Crowley often watched him like this in restaurants. It was just a bit strange seeing that expression on his own face. He wondered how the food will taste on Crowley's tongue, hoping to not disappoint.

The sushi did not disappoint, at least. It has been almost a week since he has last eaten properly and while it was true that he didn't really need it, Crowley was right once again. He enjoyed it. He has missed it. It returned a sense of normalcy to him. It made him feel better inside.

And when he glanced at Crowley between the bites, it seemed the same was true for the demon. He even ate two bites of rice that Aziraphale offered him. In turn, Aziraphale was glad and even flattered that Crowley enjoyed watching him. They finished the meal together in this peculiar mix of direct and second-hand enjoyment.

Then Aziraphale returned to the book.

Crowley fell asleep at the time the Little Prince walked to the well in the desert.

Aziraphale adjusted the blanket gently and settled to watch over him. He did not turn off the lights. He understood now that it was never truly dark for Crowley's demonic eyes and did not want to startle him with a sudden darkness. He watched him fondly in the warm light of yellow light bulbs and then settled down with a book. He felt at peace in the company of the sleeping demon, cherished by someone who let him make mistakes and was even willing to take his sickness upon himself. He felt angelic power coming back to him. But he knew that it would take a while for him to be able to use it for healing. It was like rain falling on the bottom of a dry river. The soil must be soaked with it before there will be enough water to flow again. He sighed, wishing it would be sooner: Crowley didn't deserve to suffer like this.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

Aziraphale checked Crowley's fever regularly. At 2 am, he found that it was rising. He immediately woke the groggy demon and made him swallow two of the white pills, hoping they'd be just as effective for not-quite-human beings. For a while, they were.

At 3:30 am, the fever started rising again. Crowley was burning with it and Aziraphale felt powerless. All the dark possibilities ran through his mind as he tried futilely to awaken at least a spark of healing power in him.

Common flu, he'd convinced Crowely when it was still his own sickness. But maybe it wasn't. He had been moving through so many hospitals during those last days. Who knows what mixture of germs he had accumulated. What if it was something deadly? Or maybe it was his corporation. It was just four months old, after all. Maybe it didn't know how to properly fight a sickness yet. What if he discorporated? He would return Crowley his body, of course, but where would he get a new one?

"The pink one, please…"

Startled, Aziraphale turned. "Crowley, dear?"

"Nah, got my own duck…"

"Crowley, do you hear me?"

No answer.

"You've got a high fever. I really need to do something, okay?"

"No thank you, I love an angel."

Aziraphale blushed deeply. Crowley was clearly delirious with fever.

"I love you too," he whispered. "But I can't heal you yet, I'm so sorry, dear. I'll try the human way but it will be uncomfortable. I'm sorry for that, too."

Resolved, he quickly gathered everything he needed: a bucket of cold water and a lot of towels. He pulled off the sweaty Star Wars t-shirt, not feeling too bad about undressing Crowley, since the demon was currently in his own corporation. Then he wrapped Crowley in a wet towel and then a dry one on the top before covering him with a new blanket.

Crowley whimpered with the touch of cold water on his hot skin and started shivering.

Aziraphale caressed his (own) damp curls. "It will be alright, dear. It will be alright. Just hold on until the morning, okay? That's all you need to do. I'll take care of the rest. You'll see, you'll feel tip-top in the morning. I will have enough strength to heal you then. You were right, the eating helped. And your company, too. Everything is better in your company…"

The towel was getting warm. Aziraphale sighed and replaced it with a new one.

"There. I'm really sorry for this unpleasantness. As soon as the fever lowers enough, I'll stop, I promise. But you need it right now. I don't want you to discorporate in my body, understood? I will want it back in the morning."

The second towel lasted just a little longer.

"It's cold, I know," Aziraphale rambled on as he was exchanging it for a new one. "And I know how much you hate the cold. Thanks for the sweater, by the way. Your body really feels it more. I hope it's a little better in mine. Not really, right?"

"Just what I deserve," Crowley murmured drowsily.

"Crowley! You're awake? What? No, of course not!"

"Let you out in the cold, too."

"Oh hush. That was just a little joke that backfired and you've already done more than enough to atone for it - even if I didn't deserve it, which I did. This is absolutely not intentional nor a punishment for that! And I mean that, I will take offense if you dare think that of me."

Crowley smiled faintly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. I just need to lower the fever and couldn't think of a better way. I'm sorry, really."

Crowley closed his eyes tiredly. "s'okay."

Aziraphale bit his lip. He felt that he was getting teary and wanted to suppress it. It didn't really work with Crowley's eyes. "You shouldn't be doing this for me. I don't deserve it," he sobbed. "You… you make me feel so nice… so cared for…"

Crowley opened his glossy eyes. "Bullshit. You deserve all of it," he whispered with all the conviction he could muster from Aziraphale's hoarse voice.

Aziaphale sobbed again, not convinced. Then he took a deep breath and collected himself, knowing that Crowley needed him now. He checked the towel. It was lukewarm again, but not as warm as the first one. "I'll change it once more and give you one more pill. Then I'll let you rest, alright?"

Crowley nodded and didn't protest even when the wet cold towel was wrapped around the borrowed body and he started to shiver again.

Aziraphale pressed his hand into Crowley's. He only let it go when he dried him, dressed him in fresh pajamas and covered him with the blanket. Then he connected their hands again. The fever did not rise anymore and Crowley's calm breath was reassuring. He felt the rain of angelic power slowly soaking his soul. Soon it would be able to flow in streams.

* * *

The next morning, while Crowley slept well past sunrise, Aziraphale at last felt a familiar warmth inside him.

"Crowley! Wake up, dear!"

"'m sleeping…"

"It's worth it, I promise. You will be feeling fine in no time."

Crowley cracked his eyes open.

"Ready?" Aziraphale asked him.

At last, Crowley understood and opened his eyes fully. "Are you sure…" he coughed. "...you sure it won't drain you again?"

"Yes, dear. I will be fine and you will be too."

Crowley nodded. As soon as he did, he felt warmth entering is body. It felt like basking in the sun of a hot summer day. It was spreading from the centre of his body outwards, pushing all discomfort away like an iron running over a fabric and smoothing out all the wrinkles. He felt right in his body again. Of course, there was the one little detail that it was Aziraphale's body. It felt right anyways.

He took a deep breath that didn't hurt when passing through his throat, didn't force a cough out of his lungs. He raised his head and it didn't feel like a dagger was stabbing at his temples from the inside. He didn't feel the need to lie down again and burrow deep into the blanket. Instead, he sat up and leaned on the back of the sofa, savouring the feeling.

Aziraphale was standing in front of him, wriggling his hands. "Um… everything alright?" he asked.

"Perfect." Crowley smirked a little. Aziraphale looked like a waiter, about to ask _Can I bring you anything else? _at any moment. "So all fine for you too? Got your miracles back? Won't you sit down?"

Aziraphale blushed a little. He pushed aside the blanket and sat down next to Crowley. "Yes, got them. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"Doing what?"

"I just felt… like I needed to explain myself or apologize. Like Upstairs."

Crowley looked at him thoughtfully. "It's alright, angel. Let's swap back, shall we? That expression doesn't suit my face. Come to think of it, it doesn't suit yours, either. But we have time." He snapped his fingers, clothing them both in their usual attire and then extended his hand.

Aziraphale took it.

There was a moment of mingled light and darkness.

"Really feels much better than last time I wore it," Aziraphale said, shifting a little as if settling more comfortably into his corporation.

Crowley had no snarky remark. He just watched the angel. "What did you feel the need to apologize for?"

Aziraphale wriggled his hands, looking at them instead of Crowley. "Everything. Causing all of this by getting carried away. And yet… not doing enough. I've got my healing powers back. I feel like I should get back out there and do more because I can."

Crowley watched him with sadness and sympathy. "It's the price of freedom, I fear. Nobody telling you what to do and what not to do. Being responsible for everything you do or don't do. It can get overwhelming, when you're not used to it."

"How do you deal with it?"

"Me? I'm a demon. I'm helping people by not doing anything."

Aziraphale smiled faintly.

"But you?" Crowley continued. "Might take some time. Finding the right balance. Less miracles at once, maybe. Focus on smaller, sneaky ones where they are most needed. You are only one angel. You can't help everyone. But we will figure out together how to be most effective with it."

Aziraphale nodded shyly. "It was pretty stupid of me."

Crowley frowned. "It was pretty kind and compassionate. Not stupid." He reached out his hand, laying it with his palm up between them.

Aziraphale laid his hand on it, interlacing their fingers. He sighed. "Do you know why I really didn't tell you about where I was going?"

Crowley pressed his hand in a subtle encouragement to go on instead of an answer.

"I couldn't help everyone. One big miracle or ten smaller ones? I had to prioritize. Sometimes I couldn't help. I didn't want you to see."

"Oh." Crowley leaned closer and Aziraphale mirrored the move almost without thinking. He laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and let the demon shield him in an embrace.

"It's alright," Crowley whispered. "I just don't want you to do this alone again. And I don't want you to do it if it comes at a price to you. If you can't be selfish, then I'll be selfish for both of us. I like kids and hate to see them suffer, but you are more important to me. You are the most important person in the whole universe to me."

The sob was muted, not meant to be heard, but Crowley felt the unmistakable tremor in Aziraphale's body.

"You have no obligation," Crowley said just as firmly as his hold of the angel was. "You don't need to do something just because you are capable of it. There are millions of angels capable of doing miracles, and do you see them running around doing anything?" Crowley paused. "Well, they _are _assholes, but that's not my point. My point is, you can't just go around and feel bad for everything that you could have done but didn't. You do not owe the world anything. Even if you do just one little thing, it's a little miracle more than there would be without you. And don't do it because you feel you should. Only do it if it brings you happiness, and as long as it does. When that's the case, I'm all in to help you."

Aziraphale sobbed once more, not trying to hide it this time. Crowley held him as long as he felt the angel needed it.

"You _are _so wonderful to me... it's hard to wrap my head around how you can care for me so much," Aziraphale sighed finally, now calm and looking a little tired.

Crowley gritted his teeth. "That's because you've been told that you are not worth caring for, over and over. But that's not true. You are the only one of that lot who's absolutely worth it."

When Aziraphale lifted his head from Crowley's shoulder to look at him, there was still a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Crowley knew it would take much, much longer to chase it away. And maybe it would never leave completely. He did not mind. He was ready to be Aziraphale's reassurance as long as he needed it. Forever, even. "So, how about brunch?" he asked.

"I would rather get something delivered again. It's cold outside."

"So let's stay inside and be lazy while some poor soul has to bring the food right to our door. Excellent idea!"

"Crowley!"

"Just kidding, angel. They'll get a generous tip. But the rest of the plan sounds perfect to me. We are still convalescents, right? It would do us no good, going out in that awful weather, especially when it's so warm and comfortable here."

"I suppose it really is better."

"So what would you like? I'll make the call."

* * *

They ordered crépes and discussed Christmas and other holiday traditions and celebrations over the meal and late into the afternoon, trying to find or make up one that would work best for themselves.

In the evening, Aziraphale lit the menorah. There were no candles on it. He liked to do it the old-fashioned way. It was burning with oil, and there was only enough of it for one day, but it would burn for eight - just like the good old days.

By an unspoken agreement, Crowley stayed for the night. While Aziraphale read, he slept on the sofa again, in that oversized Star Wars t-shirt he conjured before, miraculously clean now, but still smelling like Azirpahale.

In the morning, there was fresh snow. They went out for lunch and then parted ways to do some Christmas shopping. When Aziraphale came back to the bookshop, there was a tree inside. Not a cut tree. Not an artificial tree. It was a beautiful living fir tree, rooted under the floor of the bookshop as if there always had been good fertile soil instead of a cellar. It looked a bit scared.

"Oh. A Christmas tree," Aziraphale said, a bit surprised.

"Yep," Crowley nodded.

"And… uh… I can't help but notice it's growing right from the floor."

"Don't worry. I'll send her back home once the holidays are over."

"And where is that, if I might ask?"

"Carpathian forest. It's really hard to find a perfect tree nowadays."

"Well then, let me welcome you, dear," Aziraphale spoke to the tree. "I hope you'll have a nice holiday with us."

Crowley looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't in the end. He just smiled a little.

"You got everything you need?" Aziraphale asked. "If you want something to drink, just call because I'm taking the kitchen."

"Fine. I'll be here. No peeking."

That's how they agreed to make their decorations. By hand, no miracles. And as a surprise to each other.

* * *

The next morning, they decorated the tree. Aziraphale started with tartan bows.

"Sooo predictable, angel," Crowley grinned, and put up a figure of an angel. It had curly hair and simple white clothes. Then came another one, in a toga. Then one in plate armour.

"Really, dear?" Aziraphale asked with a smile. He just fastened the last bow when an angelic figure in frilled aristocratic clothes got on the tree. Then he took another set of decorations: red apples decorated with white icing.

"Do you know where the tradition of the Christmas tree comes from?" he asked Crowley as he was fastening the first one.

Crowley frowned a little. "It's not that long ago that they started popping up, is it? They had already spread after I woke up from my nap, but not so much before." He had already put up almost all of his angels on the tree, the ones near the top all wearing a bowtie.

"It comes from Germany or somewhere around there," Aziraphale explained. "There used to be Mystery plays in front of churches on Christmas Eve, which is the day of Adam and Eve in the calendar of saints. They were about Eden, and since it was winter, an evergreen was used to play the role of the Tree of Knowledge. It used to be decorated with apples."

Crowley stepped back, giving Aziraphale space to hang the apples. "So, Eden? Interesting," he purred, watching the angel from behind with a fond expression.

Aziraphale bent down and took another decoration. It was something long. A black and red garland, it seemed. When Aziraphale started wrapping it around the tree, a head with a forked tongue became visible on one end.

Crowley grinned widely and his expression was pure love.

When Aziraphale was finished, he admired the tree for a while.

"Eden is nice as a theme, but there's something missing," he said.

"What is it, dear?"

"Eden is the beginning. What's missing is the future." He took a chair and moved it to the tree. He stepped up on it and fastened a figure on the top. Two figures, in fact - an angel and a demon, their black and white wings entwined.

"Oh Crowley…" Aziraphale breathed out.

They snapped their fingers at the same time. Two boughs of mistletoe appeared just above them.

They chuckled a little, then took a step closer, meeting under it. Crowley wrapped his hands around Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale embraced him a bit lower, around the waist.

Their lips brushed. Then they opened a little and pressed together. Crowley's lips tasted of wine that he was drinking while making the decorations, while Aziraphale's tasted of apples.

After some time, Crowley broke the kiss. "One more," he grinned and turned to his almost empty box of decorations. He took out another angel. This one was dressed in a grey suit and shawl.

Aziraphale frowned a little. "Why?"

Crowley grinned and hung the angel on the lowest branch of the tree. It seemed to be missing the link for fastening the thread, though. Crowley put a rather coarse thread in a characteristic loop around the figure's neck instead.

Aziraphale shook his head in mock exasperation. Then he started chuckling.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

They spent the holidays together. There was a lot of food, mixed from different traditions. A lot of punch and mulled wine. The menorah burnt. The lady who bought Aziraphale a bus ticket had been found and blessed thoroughly. Random boughs of mistletoe were appearing all over the shop. And on Christmas morning, there were two packages under the tree.

Crowley raised his eyebrows when he opened his. "You're giving me a book? One of your signed first editions? Are you sure, angel?"

"Of course, dear. It's not like you'd lose it or be disrespectful to it, right?"

"No, no. Actually, I think I will keep it here, if you don't mind."

"It's yours. You can keep it where you would like," Aziraphale said with a tone that suggested he knew exactly where Crowley would want to keep it when giving it to him.

Crowley returned The Little Prince to its shelf. "Does that mean that I can ask you to read it to me again sometime?"

"That's why I gave it to you," Aziraphale smiled.

"Now open yours," Crowley pointed at the other package.

Aziraphale reached for it and carefully opened the wrapping paper, then folded it and put it aside. He opened the box inside and took out a smartphone. He smiled at Crowley, then turned it on confidently.

The demon opened his mouth in surprise.

"I knew you would get me one, dear. I asked the lady in the shop how to operate it. Now I'll be able to let you know where I am if I get carried away with something."

"Not someone, I hope," Crowley muttered. "I will come. Always. Even if it's silly and I'm mad at you."

Aziraphale smiled. "Thank you, dear. Will you come with me next year then?"

"A round of Christmas miracles? Oh, bless it. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. I will come."

"Marvelous," Aziraphale beamed. "You can dress as a Christmas Elf."

"Wait, what?"

Instead of an answer, Aziraphale snapped his fingers. A bough of mistletoe appeared above Crowley's head and his protests were silenced.


End file.
